


It's Like Reps

by Ash (ashaleighmarie)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Shameless Smut, Smut, that's all this is, written for a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 12:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11967516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashaleighmarie/pseuds/Ash
Summary: Grif hates exercise, right? Simmons is determined to find something that he's willing to do to burn some calories.





	It's Like Reps

**Author's Note:**

> Short, shameless little smut piece. Written for Perry. Because he asked and I said yes.

_ “There has to be  _ one _ exercise that you're willing to do, right?” _

It was a question that had been raised a dozen times before. Fired off at him as he lay on the couch with a snack cake sticking out of his mouth, jabbed at him while he dragged himself out of bed complaining all the way to do even the most basic of manual labor. Simmons was the main culprit, always standing over his head, voice usually raised in outrage, but he was hardly the only one.

In fact,  _ everyone _ seemed to have asked Grif just what he actually liked to do that burned calories. Surely there was something,  _ anything _ he enjoyed that wasn't sitting around and doing nothing.

He could have informed them that swimming used to be a favored pastime back home. It would have been true, and swimming was actually great exercise, or so he'd been told.

But instead he answered as he usually did, with a shrug and a deadpan, “I’unno.”

Most people took this answer and left it at that. What did they  _ actually _ care if Grif exercised or not?

Simmons, however, was determined to  _ fix _ the situation. As usual. He came up with possible exercise routines, detailed measures of how many calories each one would potentially burn based off of how much he tended to observe Grif consuming in one day.

(Which was even inflated to include the snacks that they both knew he  _ didn't _ know about.)

So when Simmons walked in with his color-coded little folder full of evil plans to make him sweat, Grif knew something had to be done.

“-shouldn't be hard to complete, and it's routed to include as much shade as possible, so you can't complain about being out in the sun the  _ whole _ time.”

A hand snaked out from under the sheets and caught the taller soldier by the shirt, surprising him. He squeaked, fumbling with his folder, and then dropping it entirely in favor of stopping himself from face-planting on the bed when Grif kept pulling on him. He was dressed down, clearly in preparation for being forced to accompany Grif on any actual exercising they did. Which fed perfectly into his plan.

“Grif, for fuck’s sake, come  _ on _ , I'm trying to help you here-”

“Oh, I know.” Grif wiggled out further from under his blankets, keeping that hand locked on Simmons’ shirt. “There's actually a way you really  _ can _ help me. With exercising.”

Simmons already looked exasperated. “If you're going to tell me it's by  _ shutting up about it _ , then you're wasting your breath.”

“No, no, really. It counts as actual exercise. But you need someone to do it with. Like reps,” he added, inspired, as Simmons continued to eye him doubtfully. “Come on, let me show you. It's legit.”

There was a long, drawn out moment in which it seemed like he was going to refuse, simply on principle. And then he sighed heavily, and his shoulders dropped just a little. “Fine.  _ Fine _ . What is it?”

Grif grinned.

 

\---

 

“Grif! F- _ Fuck _ ,  **_Dex-_ ** ”

“Uh-uh, gotta last the whole hour or it doesn't count.”

This was technically hour two of Grif’s proposed workout, and both men were definitely out of breath at this point. For different reasons, but…

Simmons gasped, legs shaking. “ _ Ohmygod-” _

Grif smirked, pausing briefly despite the whining above him to push back the loose strands of hair that had fallen into his face and now clung to his forehead. “Hah… six minutes to go, Sims, you can do it.”

His head dipped down again, and Simmons resumed his groaning, pressing his cheek into the bed, desperate for anything to cool himself off, to try and take his mind off of what could only be described as  _ torture _ . “Fuuuuck,  _ please _ , Dex, o-oh my  _ god _ ,  _ don't _ stop-”

His back arched, a quiet scream barely caught behind his teeth as tongue was replaced with fingers ( _ again _ ) and his mouth busied itself elsewhere, heels digging into Grif's back, releasing a desperate chorus of broken pleas as he was driven to the edge again, almost sobbing out his name now.

He couldn't hear anything over his own cries, which would have been embarrassing in any other situation but at least it meant he didn't have to hear  _ Grif’s _ noises instead. Thank  _ god _ they'd found out these rooms were soundproofed.

Still, it was with teeth buried in his fist to  _ try _ and quiet himself that he finally fell apart, letting out fevered wails that fizzled out into weak moans, feeling completely boneless as Grif finally pushed himself upright again, his own face flushed and sweaty from being buried between Simmons’ thighs.

He rotated his jaw a little, rubbing a hand over it. “You think that’s a muscle that actually gets stronger with use?”

Simmons managed a groan and pressed his face deeper into the mattress.

 

\---

 

“You're trying to  _ kill _ us.”

God, his  _ fingers _ were at it again, soaked in lube that he could feel trickling down one thigh, just the gentlest of pushes and twists to keep him worked up, making him squirm and whimper in need.

“Ten reps is like, the  _ minimum _ , right? Five can't be impossible.” Grif was murmuring his responses between open-mouth kisses over his cock, sounding for all the world as though they were having a completely normal conversation and weren't  _ actually trying _ to go five rounds in a row to somehow prove that lots of oral sex counted as an exercise routine.

“For god’s sake, Grif,  _ please _ -” But Simmons’ words broke off into a wordless noise as Grif’s mouth closed around the head of his cock again and sucked eagerly, causing his hips to buck upward into the sensation.

“Please _ please, fuck _ , Dex _!” _ His shoulders dug into the mattress, straining helplessly, one hand fisted instinctively in the loosened strands of Grif’s hair, the hair tie from before long since lost. “Y-you- nngh, you f-fucking  _ asshole _ !”

“Pretty sure-  _ hah _ , that’s not what we're doing here.” He blew the hair out of his face again, and kissed down further between his thighs, giving a little hum as he felt Simmons’ thighs quiver anew atop his shoulders.

“F-fuck yoo _ ouuu _ …” His head fell back and he moaned as Grif’s tongue found him again, lapping over him, pressing inside.

There was no witty response to that only because his mouth was too busy elsewhere, and they devolved once again into a rhythm of gasps and mewls and whines until, slowly, over the course of yet another hour, a fifth orgasm was dragged out of Simmons’ trembling body, all but curled around Grif’s head with both hands caught tight in his messy hair.

Exhausted, he slumped forward into him a bit more, struggling to catch his breath. Then he flopped backward, hitting the mattress limply, eyes closed. Grif was content to remain between his splayed thighs for a while longer, but eventually he dragged himself free and flopped down beside him, content.

Silence stretched out between them, as shattered breaths settled into slow, comfortable ones. Then…

“We are  _ not _ doing this again.”

“Yeah, yeah. Three tops?”

Grif grunted as an elbow landed in his ribs.

“...I will take that as a  _ maybe _ .”


End file.
